


Recipe #39

by youjik33



Category: Suikoden
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: With the Gate Rune Wars behind them, Tir vows never to take Gremio for granted again.





	Recipe #39

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Midnight_Run](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Run/gifts).



On evenings like these, the golden glow of sunset gleaming through the mist, with the water dripping off the trees and the nearby river creating a single low lull of sound, it almost felt like the war had just been a bad dream. Tir lay on his bedroll, listening to the rain rolling off the half-collapsed wooden roof of the old farmhouse where they'd taken shelter, his eyes half closed.

Whether the farmhouse had been abandoned due to war, natural disaster, or simply the flow of time, its stone fireplace still stood tall, and Gremio was taking the opportunity to make stew in his battered old pot with fish Tir had pulled from the river earlier that day. Tir could hear him muttering to himself as he stirred, no doubt fussing over the balance of ingredients and lamenting the lack of a proper kitchen, but the stew would no doubt be delicious nonetheless. It always was.

Not so long ago Gremio would have been making the stew in their Gregminster estate, while Tir and Ted played pranks on him, Cleo scolded, and Pahn napped until the dinner bell. Some of that, Tir reminded himself, he had lost by choice, and may well see again once the Toran Republic was stabilized and the name of McDohl began to slip into the realm of legend. It wasn't as though he didn't have time. He thought again of Ted, traveling alone for 300 years. That amount of time seemed impossibly huge. 

Tir slipped to his feet, stretched, and picked his way across a few broken timbers into the great room. Sure enough, Gremio was grousing to himself before the fire, something about not having enough butter, and for a moment Tir felt that old childish urge to tickle him, or poke his ribs, or tug on his ponytail. Instead he wrapped his arms around Gremio from behind, burying his face against the nape of the other man's neck.

Gremio gave a startled cry and dropped his spoon, but Tir just tightened his arms, and after a moment Gremio relaxed into them with a sigh. "Young master," he said softly. No matter how many times Tir asked, it seemed he'd never stop calling him that. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Tir said. "You just do so much for me. I don't want to take you for granted."

"I've never felt you did," Gremio said. "Now please, let me tend to my stew before the cream scalds."

Tir complied, with some reluctance, and watched Gremio wipe off the spoon and turn his attention back to his cooking. "Maybe," Tir said, "you could teach me. You cook for me all the time, I should be able to return the favor."

"Now, young master, really," Gremio chided. "This is my duty."

"Not any more, it isn't," Tir insisted. "Is that really why you left Gregminster with me? Because you still think I'm a child who needs looking after?"

"I suppose not," Gremio said. "You haven't been a child for a long time. But I don't know what I'd do with myself if I weren't looking after you."

"And I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you," Tir said. 

He had lost Gremio once. And as horrible as it had been, Tir knew he could survive without Gremio, if he had to. That he surely would again some day, as the rune in his hand kept him out of step with the inexorable flow of time. Whether Gremio was thinking of his own horrible death and the miracle that had reversed it Tir didn't know, and it didn't seem right to ask. But after a moment the other man said, "Next time we're in a proper village, with a proper kitchen, I'll give you some instruction. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make a written copy of the recipe, either." 

With a grin, Tir threw his arms around Gremio and gave him a proper hug, even sneaking a kiss on the cheek before withdrawing. Let Gremio wonder about that, for now. Maybe in 300 years Tir would be stirring a stew pot, using a recipe he'd learned by heart, alone with his warmest memories. But right now, for the moment, it seemed as though the future lay bright and hopeful before them.


End file.
